Chapter Eleven

Annaira sighed, taking a step backwards. Head tilted and eyes glittering, she studied her recent masterpiece. She noted that the bottom of the waterfall needed a bit more work, and the flowers were too blue. Nothing a bit of mixing couldn't fix.

A faint smile flitted onto her face as she studied the painted landscape. It wasn't that she thought her work was good. No, Annaira wasn't arrogant. It was the fact that the painting, which she had been working on for the past month, looked exactly as she remembered the actual spot.

Nodding to herself, she pulled away from the dream-like thoughts that threatened to attack. She stepped closer to the easel, reaching next to it to swirl her current paintbrush in the glass of water she kept handy. Wiping it on her white smock, she prepared to dip it into the blue paint, sighing when she realized she had used it all.

"It's always blue. Why's it always blue," She muttered darkly. Carefully she set down her brush, wiping her pain-smeared hands on her smock.

Still muttering, she made her way across the room. She had set this room up specifically for painting. It was fairly large, made completely of aged stone. Six floor-to-ceiling windows on the back wall let in amazing amounts of sunlight, giving a magnificent view of the mountains and valleys beyond the castle.

She kept the room tidy, or as tidy as an inspired artist can anyway. Easels stood ready and equipped in various places around the room. Various small tables were scattered with brushes, paint tubes, papers, pencils, opened books, and trays. Her current easel was positioned against the right wall, next to a long and narrow table piled with tools.

Against the left wall, just next to the windows, was a large wooden cabinet. It was perhaps the only organized thing in the whole room, constantly stocked with art supplies. It was bound to have a new tube of sky-blue paint.

Before she could reach the cabinet, however, she heard a faint noise. Stopping, she turned towards the door, listening. Light footsteps were hurrying towards the room. They stopped just in front of the art-room. After a moment, a rap came on the door.

Expecting the knock, Annaira was already standing at the door. The knock wasn't even finished when she opened the door. Standing there was the small messenger-boy. He stared up at her with fearful eyes.

"Yes?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.

He stared up at her for a moment longer, mouth agape. Finally realizing she had spoken, he blinked.

"Miss, the m-master requests your presence in the s-study." The boy was fidgeting now, casting his eyes everywhere besides Annaira.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Calls himself master now, does he? Oh well, I suppose it's something important."

She turned her back to the boy, muttering to herself as she walked further into the room. Pulling off her smock she set it on the nearest table. Quickly she rinsed her hands in the wash-basin against the left wall. She chanced a glance at the mirror next to the basin, grimacing as she did so. Her hair, which was pulled into a bun, was falling every which way into her face. Flecks of paint were splattered on her face, smeared where she had wiped her forehead. She had been chewing on her lips again, so it sported a nice cut. Brilliant.

"Not like he even pays attention..." Sighing, she turned to leave the room. She stopped at the sight of the messenger studying her recent painting.

"And what, pray tell, are you doing?" The boy whirled around, blinking in fear as she stared at him.

"I, um, w-would you like me to tell the master you're coming?" He gave a feeble smile. Annaira smile knowingly back at him.

"No, no. There's no reason for you to get your head torn off. I suppose he's in a horrid mood." The boy hesitated, then nodded. "Right, well, lets be off then. C'mon, shoo shoo!" The boy, still smiling, quickened his pace as she batted him out of the room.

Once in the corridor, the boy walked beside her, hurrying to keep her pace.

"That was a pretty picture."

"It's a painting, but thank you anyway."

"Oh." He went silent, frowning a bit. Within seconds he was staring back up at her with curiosity. Little boys… "Who were the four people? One of 'em looked like you. 'Cept you're prettier." Annaira couldn't help but laugh at his remark. Looking coyly down at him, she rustled his hair.

"Curious little thing, aren't you? Yes, I suppose one of them did look like me. Now, run along, we're nearly to the study. I suggest you keep out of the 'masters' way." She rolled her eyes at the thought.

Smiling, the little boy nodded, running off. Halfway down the corridor, however, he stopped to shout back at her.

"The wings were pretty, too! Especially yours." Annaira stopped only for a moment, smiling lightly to herself. At the sound of his retreating footsteps she continued on.

Clearing her face of emotion, she slipped silently into the study. It was in the same condition as yesterday, if not worse. She had wanted to come in and tidy it up, but Nox hadn't allowed it. As soon as they had arrived in the castle last night, Nox dashed off and locked himself in the study. Men…

Carefully she picked her way through the mess. It was a bit easier today, for most of the lanterns were lit. They gave the room an odd orange tinge.

Annaira dropped herself into a plump armchair in front of the desk. She picked at the dried paint on her jeans for a moment, waiting for Nox to speak. He was standing with his back to her, glaring into the fireplace. That seemed to be his favorite pastime lately.

"We're meeting with Batchelder." He didn't turn around.

"Mm, are we? Where?"

"The Institute. I have questions for him."

Annaira sighed, turning her gaze to him. "Why are we even including him in this? Both Lux and the Flock are out of his hands, now. He obviously hasn't been doing his job. First he let the Flock get away, and now Lux. What's the point?"

Hissing, Noxnoctis whipped around to face her. His eyes burned with madness, dark bags beneath them evidence of his long hours without sleep.

"Incase you've forgotten, which I'm sure you have, Batchelder an advantage on the Flock; he has the chip." Annaira cringed. She hadn't forgotten about the chip. "Therefore, we need to keep him thinking he has a part in this. Perhaps we've let him keep the Flock and Luxlucious contained for too long, but that's something we can't change."

Annaira watched Noxnoctis as he paced back and forth, eyes unfocused. He was talking more to himself then to her.

"We'll let him believe he's the master in this for a bit longer. Let him think this is all one big experiment, all one test for the Flock. Until we can find them again." It fell silent as he stopped both pacing and talking. Annaira fidgeted slightly in her seat.

"Do you think he's remembered?"

Nox glanced at her, looking away just as quickly. He didn't answer.

"If he has remembered, he'll go looking for Ciel." She knew he didn't remember anything. He most likely wouldn't. Unless she, Nox, or Ciel broke the Vow.

"Perhaps he's already found her. Perhaps she's the one who helped him escape…" Nox seemed to ponder this for a moment before turning quickly to her. Swiftly he moved towards her, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her from her chair.

"Ow, what the heck Nox!" He dragged her through the mess of the study and out into the corridor. Only then did he release his tight grip on her wrist, instead grabbing her hand.

"We're going to the Institute now. If she's helped him, then she's likely to know where the Flock is. All the reports of her have been in the same area as the Flock. We're going to find them."

Annaira blinked, wondering what she had gotten herself into. Sighing, she attempted to pull herself out of his grasp.

"I need to change. A t-shirt and jeans won't do to impress. Nox, let go!"

Nox's grip tightened. He glared darkly down at her. Annaira shrank away from his gaze, casting her gaze to the ground.

Fully prepared for a rough transport, she muttered the words of departure.